


total synergistics

by iamasecret



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drift Compatibility, F/F, Found Family, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Military Training, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Soulmates, Sparring, The Drift (Pacific Rim), and like go into each other's minds, epic fight scenes, in which Angella kind-of-sort-of adopts Catra, it’s reportedly more interesting than the movie and a million times more gay, reviews are in, they can hear each other's thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26625235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamasecret/pseuds/iamasecret
Summary: Adora reached out, brushing her fingers across Catra’s shoulder, only for Catra to spin, grabbing Adora's wrist and twisting it against her chest.As Adora gasped in pain and surprise, Catra leaned over to whisper in her ear.“Get over yourself. Not everyone is falling over themselves to be your copilot.Especiallynot me.”ORThe world is being invaded, and can only be saved by soulmates who share memories and thoughts in order to fight with total synergy.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 200





	1. promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated 10/26/2020

**_Kaiju._ ** _ Japanese: 怪獣, kaijū. "Strange beast". _

**_Jaeger._ ** _ German: jäger, yeigr. “Hunter”. _

Adora’s legs couldn’t move fast enough. Adam dragged her along behind him, looking back over her shoulder in fear. 

“C’mon,” he yelled over the screams trailing behind them. “We’re almost there!”

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” She sobbed at him, forcing her stumbling legs to keep moving. 

Adam just kept tugging at her arm, but from his frown and teary eyes, Adora knew that something was very, very wrong. 

* * *

Adora’s long legs carried her to the front of the pack, this time. The rhythmic pounding of her feet on the track, the brush of her arms past her waist, the slight tilt forward—she was doing everything right, and she’d probably break her record—

She heard Catra’s telltale light, even breathing getting louder behind her, and pushed harder, grinning freely through her panting. She’d never feel so outmatched again, she’d be able to run this time— 

She heard a shoe scuff on the track and not a second later, Catra’s yowl reached her ears.

“Dammit!” 

Adora spun on her heel and jogged back, dropping to her knees beside Catra. “You okay?” She asked softly, fighting down her worry at Catra’s tear-filled eyes. 

Catra winked—not a single tear slipped down her cheeks—and Adora’s eyes went wide in realization, mouth dropping open. 

_ “Oh.”  _

Their coach jogged up to them from the bench. As he approached, Adora spoke loudly, so he could hear her. “Your ankle looks pretty bad, Catra. I’m not sure you should run on that.” 

Catra rolled her eyes at Adora’s too-loud voice, but slid her facade back into place as the coach slowed to a stop beside them.

The coach, pale from Catra’s wails, seemed to be on the verge of passing out at the sight of Catra’s rare tears and quivering lip. With a cursory glance at her ankle, he told them that she’d better get home to ice and wrap it. 

“I’ll walk her,” Adora volunteered, and suddenly they had a rare two hours of time to themselves; Shadow Weaver, their foster mother, was at work, and the others would still be at soccer. 

Adora switched on the TV, setting the stolen popcorn on the coffee table, flopping onto the couch. Catra curled up next to her, purring only loud enough to be heard over the TV as Adora wrapped an arm around her. 

A Nations League soccer game played in the background. Iceland versus England, Adora thought, but she wasn’t paying enough attention to be sure. It was the only channel that they had that ever played soccer, so they watched the few matches it aired when they could.

The game was the apparent reason for skipping out on practice, the reason they’d give if asked. They’d run this same scam hundreds of times. Adora suspected that Catra did it just to get out of doing things, but for Adora, anything she could do to spend more time with Catra was a no-brainer, even if lying went against her nature.

While the match was close, and the players so skilled that Adora might normally have been completely entranced, she was really just paying attention to Catra’s inane commentaries, to the rumbling of Catra’s chest as she leaned against Adora’s shoulder, to Catra’s hand resting comfortably on her thigh. 

_ I wish I could stay in this moment forever.  _

As Adora’s hand scraped the bottom of the metal popcorn bowl, searching mindlessly for anything edible amongst the kernels, she heard Catra’s purr halt, and felt Catra’s nails dig into her leg. 

She looked over worriedly. Catra’s eyes were wide, pupils blown, mouth drawn in a snarl. 

“What’s—” 

Catra just shook her head, eyes fixed intently on the TV. 

“—the second kaiju attack, since the very first in 2005—” 

Adora whipped around to stare at the announcer, a cold dread seeping into her chest. 

A shaking, flying camera showed an ugly, lizard-like creature, large and strong enough that its tail toppled the skyscrapers of what looked like Manhattan. 

Adora forced herself to keep her eyes open, to stare at the monster from her nightmares.

“—fortunately, the jaeger program has thus far spit out two new jaegers, one of which is based in New York City. The jaeger, Romeo Blue, will be the first to test itself against the kaiju.” 

Adora held her breath, watching as the blue, metal robot—only about a third the size of the kaiju—ran towards the monster, almost in slow motion. The kaiju reacted slowly too, and Romeo Blue landed a devastating punch to the kaiju’s face. Blue blood spewed from the kaiju, and it roared — the camera’s microphone fed back static at its power.

Catra curled in on herself at the kaiju’s roar, and Adora pulled her in closer, almost completely into her lap. 

“—I’m getting reports that Romeo Blue is piloted by Netossa and Spinnerella, two rangers in the U.S. army—”

The kaiju reached for Romeo Blue, wrapping its scaly fingers around the huge robot, and threw it. Romeo Blue sent up sparks as it scraped against several buildings, before finally rolling to land on its knees. It stood up gingerly, and even from the miles-away shot, Adora could tell that the jaeger was worse for wear. Its armor was cracked, and thick wires showed at its joints. 

Catra’s nails dug deeper into her thigh, but Adora was too used to being Catra’s scratching post—too caught up in the action—to mind. 

But Romeo Blue marched back towards the kaiju, raising its arm, charging a plasma cannon attached at the end of its arm. As the kaiju advanced towards the jaeger again, the cannon discharged in the kaiju’s chest, leaving a glowing blue hole in its wake. 

The kaiju fell to the ground, lifeless. 

“What the _fuck,_ ” Catra whispered, completely ruffled, letting her head fall back against Adora’s shoulder. “What the _actual_ _fuck.”_

“I didn’t think there’d be more of them,” Adora said softly, trying to force her heart rate to slow, trying to relax, for Catra’s benefit. “I didn’t think they’d come back.” 

While Catra had learned to bury her emotions from the world, Adora knew that the way Catra had let her hair fall into her face, the subtle catch in her breathing each time she inhaled, the way she’d suddenly gone quiet, her sudden desperate hold on Adora’s arm, meant she was crying—for real, this time.

“Catra, I…” 

Catra sniffed and cleared her throat, swiping her tears away. “I’m  _ fine. _ ” 

But she didn’t loosen her vicelike grip on Adora’s arm.

“Catra, I’m so sorry.” 

“They’re just—every time I see them I remember that day, and I just—” 

“I know. Me, too.” 

“They make me feel so helpless,” Catra whispered thickly. 

Adora remembered screaming, running, dust in the air—

“I know,” she murmured, taking Catra’s hand from where it rested on her thigh, intertwining their fingers. “I know.”

The emergency news broadcast ended, and the soccer game resumed, but it felt like a completely new world. Everyone had hoped the devastating kaiju attack would occur just that once and never again, but now—maybe there would be a third attack, and a fourth, and more after that—

Adora breathed in deeply, forcing herself to end that train of thought. “But did you see that thing—what did they call it?—the jaeger? It took that thing down, no problem.” 

Catra chuckled wetly, turning away to wipe away her tears with her free hand. “Yeah. It was pretty awesome.” 

That night, in their room with the three others, all they could talk about was the attack. 

“—did you see how it—”

“We were watching!”

“—Netossa and Spinnerella, the pilots—”

They watched a news broadcast from Adora’s phone, all huddled on her tiny bottom bunk. 

“The jaeger is a completely innovative piece of technology,” the scientist on the tiny screen said, gesturing to a blueprint with a jaeger sketch on it, “because of its unique ability to interface between the human brain and a machine.” 

The tiny screen played a video of a pilot, dressed in a full-body suit and held up by mechanical joints in the middle of a small jaeger. As the pilot moved his right arm, the robot’s right arm moved with it. As the pilot struggled in his harness to walk, the robot moved with him. 

They were transfixed. 

“We discovered early on that the neural load required to pilot such a large machine was too heavy for a single person,” the scientist continued, and the pilot was seizing in the pilot apparatus, blood leaking from his eyes. 

“So we designed a way to split the neural load between two people, using the left hemisphere of one to control the left half of the jaeger, and the right hemisphere of another to control the right half of the jaeger.” 

Two pilots were suspended in a larger jaeger, one on the left, one on the right. They moved in perfect synchronicity, marching to the same beat, summoning a plasma cannon at the same time. 

“Unfortunately, while it would be convenient, we can’t just throw any two pilots into a jaeger,” the scientist divulged. “The two pilots’ brains need to be completely connected, one hundred percent compatible. Ideally, the pilots should have many shared experiences; or at the bare minimum, they need to have similar worldviews and need to be willing to adapt to one another.” 

Adora glanced at Catra out of the corner of her eye, saw Catra’s smile aimed at her, and felt Catra’s hand—invisible in the dark—sneaking to take her own hand. 

“The pilots share their thoughts and experience, doubling their effective training, thus maximizing their ability to fight effectively.”

_ How amazing would that be,  _ Adora thought.  _ To protect the world together—to be able to work so closely together— _

After Shadow Weaver had locked her bedroom door for the night and the others had gone to bed, Catra slid down from her top bunk to Adora’s mattress. She laid flat on her back next to Adora, and they stared at the old wooden slats above them.

“I wonder what we’d have to do to get into one of those things,” Adora whispered, feeling the strength that had been rising within her ever since they’d seen the fight. “I want to be able to take the kaiju down like that—I want to be able to protect—”

“We could make it so that nobody ever has to live what we did ever again,” Catra exclaimed quietly, sitting up, eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.

“We could protect the whole world,” Adora beamed. “We have to be eighteen to join the army, but—as soon as we turn eighteen, let’s get out of here. Let’s go.” 

“Okay,” Catra smiled, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement, before softening with a quiet vulnerability—one that Adora knew was only for her. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! I'm back. I'm really excited for this story, and have been writing it instead of studying for tests. another soulmate au, because I'm a sucker for them. hope you enjoy!
> 
> as always, thanks to womenlovingwonderwoman for beta-ing. for some reason, she decided to stick with me. :)
> 
> I will, one day, finish the other fic. I got sidetracked by this for the moment.


	2. torn apart

_Six years later._

Adora spun her staff from hand to hand, grinning at herself in the wall-length mirror. The smooth, polished wood flew through her hands, twirling over her knuckles, landing in her palm, before she spun it back over into her other hand. The transition was so much smoother than it had been even just a week ago. 

“Switch,” Lieutenant Scurvy called out. 

Adora caught her staff, letting it fall back in the opposite direction of rotation, creating the blur in front of her face again. She felt the faint breeze from behind her—cooling her already-sweaty white t-shirt—and caught the movement in the mirror out of the corner of her eye that meant her fellow cadets had begun the move as well.

“First kata.” 

Adora caught her staff again by its center, and began the right-handed spin that put the staff under her right shoulder, before spinning it out to her side. She let the spin take over the momentum of the staff, and it spun twice more in front of her body, before she brought it back under her shoulder again, and then out again, never stopping its movement. She started slow, but got faster and faster, until she felt so at one with the staff that she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. 

“Switch.”

The left side had been more awkward for Adora at first, but now… she began slowly, started under her shoulder, letting the staff guide her arm forward, through the three spins, and back under her arm. As it built speed, she felt a giddy grin take over her expression once again. It was so natural—how had she not been doing this her whole life? 

“Second kata.” 

A two-handed, wider spin this time, moving from side to side in front of her body. Her shoulders rotated forward with each revolution—it was almost a dance. 

The staffs were traditionally used in a martial art called _bojutsu._ Their instructor had explained to them that where other martial arts such as jiu jitsu vastly favored heavier fighters, bojutsu put everyone on a much more equal playing field; agility and strategy became just as important as strength. 

For jaeger pilots, the mental compatibility was so much more important than comparable physical strength, so this was the best way the founders of the program had found to suss out candidates. 

“Third kata.”

A two-handed spin, where the staff completely circled her body. Each time the staff made it back around in front of her, spinning a little faster, and she smirked a little wider. 

Adora got lost in the katas, not missing a single hand placement, not over-spinning the staff once, not ever losing control. It was as fluid a dance as she’d ever danced, as good as she’d ever been at anything, since soccer, since playing with— 

“Attention!” The lieutenant finally called after the tenth kata, and they all snapped up. 

As Adora stood at attention, panting, staff held loosely at her side, and t-shirt stuck uncomfortably to her back and stomach, she noticed an unfamiliar, uniformed man reflected in the mirror, coming up through their ranks. He passed Adam in the row behind her, before catching her eyes in the mirror and nodding smartly. Adora sharpened her gaze, eyebrows drawing together, unconsciously tugging her shirt off her stomach. She felt the urge to sweep the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of their clip back out of her face, but stayed at attention. 

“Your first month of training has been an unequivocal success, cadets,” the man said, his voice cool and smooth. “The majority of you have made great progress in your training, and some have exceeded all expectations.” 

Adora caught his steely gaze again, and a chill crawled up her spine, despite the humid heat of the training room. 

“Which is why... while typically we might wait another month or so before beginning the drift compatibility testing process, we’ve decided to begin your testing today.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the cadets, but under the man’s stare, they dissipated quickly. Adora felt something tug in her gut. 

No. Her training had gone really well today. She felt more put-together than she ever had, better prepared than she ever had. And if the man said that they were ready—

“Go cool off and hydrate yourselves. Report back in twenty minutes.” 

“Yes, sir!” They saluted. 

Adora carefully set her staff down in front of her, hearing the muted _thump_ all around her of wood hitting the padded floor. She turned to look at Adam, who was staring wide-eyed at her, smiling so brightly she wasn’t sure she hadn’t been blinded by it. 

“This is it!” He almost-shouted, and Adora couldn’t help but to mimic his joy and excitement, couldn’t help but to relax. 

“This is it,” she affirmed, shooting him with her finger guns, letting a laugh bubble out of her. “We’re gonna kill it. We’ll be the youngest ever jaeger pilots. We’re gonna do it!”

“Let’s do it!” Adam held out his fist, and Adora bumped it none-too-softly. 

“I’m gonna need this hand in a minute, Adora—be careful,” Adam laughed, shaking out his hand. 

“Wuss,” Adora said, jogging to the side to find her water bottle.

Twenty minutes found them reconvened in the room, seated around a smaller, central sparring mat. Adam’s knee bumped Adora’s where they sat in the first row in front of the mat. 

“We’ll start at the bottom of your ranks, shall we, cadets?” The man smiled, and again something inside of Adora recoiled, and Adam stiffened next to her. She looked worriedly at him, and his mouth quirked up reassuringly, although a stubborn crease stayed between his eyebrows.

“We’ll work up, pairing each cadet with a few ranked at around his skill level, until we reach the top of the list. Cadet Kyle Weaver, to the mat.” 

Adora’s old friend jumped to his feet, almost overbalancing as he reached back down for his staff. Adora watched him nervously as he jogged awkwardly to the mat. That’d be her in a minute, probably. 

His partner joined him, another smaller, awkward cadet. They took to their corners of the mat and bowed as the man instructed them to, before beginning their fight. 

Adora couldn’t focus. Adam had hit the nail on the head, before—this was the moment she’d been waiting for. The past six years of her life had all led up to this point. She couldn’t screw up—she’d have to do everything perfectly—but the only way to spar well was with a clear mind, which she certainly didn’t have right now—

She felt Adam’s arm around her shoulders and relaxed into him for a second, breathing out a long, deep breath, before shoving his arm off and glaring at him. 

But again, he’d relaxed her, for the moment. 

“Three-zero—that might be a new record low, Cadet Weaver,” the man sighed, making a note on his clipboard. 

Adora couldn’t help but to join in the brief wave of relieved laughter that washed through the cadets—at least she wouldn’t be as awful as Kyle. 

As the man read more and more names off of his clipboard, ire obviously growing as no cadets showed signs of drift compatibility, and as the group of cadets who hadn’t yet sparred grew smaller and smaller, Adora’s excitement and anxiety heightened in equal measure. Each name he read off was another cadet she’d performed better than in training, and a higher-skilled cadet she’d need to face in her match. Would she be good enough—

Eventually, she looked around the room and realized—had they called every name but hers and Adam’s? She thought so—she hadn’t kept track of all of the cadets as their names had been called, but—

“Cadet Adam Grayskull, up against the reigning champ, Cadet Lonnie Weaver.” 

Each time she saw Lonnie, Kyle, or Rogelio, it was a painful reminder of everything she’d left behind—but she didn’t have time for distractions, right now—

Adam squeezed Adora’s hand before standing, leaving Adora sitting alone on her side of the mat. He twirled his staff confidently in one hand and winked at her. 

“Don’t worry, dude. I’m gonna win this one so I can whoop your ass in just a minute.” 

The tension broke again, and Adora grinned. “Whatever. If anything, it’ll be _your_ ancient ass they have to scrape off the mat.” 

The defeated cadets standing around the edges hollered at that, but Adam just rolled his eyes and tapped her lightly on the head with his staff, before jogging confidently to stand opposite Lonnie.

The fight was—as far as Adora could tell—one of the longest they’d seen that day. There was a tension present between Adam and Lonnie that hadn’t really been there between the other cadets, an ebb-and-flow to their fighting that signified something Adora didn’t want to think about. 

But in the end, Adam won, three to one, with a lucky shot to the shin that Lonnie had been _just_ off-balance enough to miss blocking. 

“Last but _certainly_ not least,” the man called, “Cadet Adora Grayskull.” 

Adora stood, staff held loosely in her right hand. The nerves were completely gone, replaced with an almost eerie calm. She spun the staff experimentally from hand to hand, performing a couple of sets of the second kata, as she walked to her place on the mat, opposite her brother. 

Adam was already sweaty from his match with Lonnie, but his breath was steady and measured, his staff held unwavering in front of him. 

“Hey, Adora,” he said, leaning faux-suavely against his staff. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“To your places,” the man commanded, and Adora found herself obeying the demanding note in his voice without a second thought, and saw Adam doing the same. “Bow.”

They bowed. 

“Three, two, one,” he called, and Adora stood straight, staff held defensively in front of her, and she and Adam began to circle one another, staffs spinning back and forth in front of them—never connecting, but coming close in their rotations. 

She stared into his eyes, hoping that her familiarity with his face would permit her to read signs of his attack moments before they happened. 

His eyebrows narrowed the slightest amount, and she instinctively swung her staff out of its rotation to meet his as it swung from above towards her shoulder. The staffs met with a clear _clank,_ and she used the momentum of her block to push his staff away and launch her counterattack. 

She swung at Adam’s shoulder, anticipating his block even as it happened, and she pushed closer, feet dancing beneath her, backing up one step but advancing two, forcing him towards the edge of the mat. She feinted for his knee with one end of the staff before spinning it around and attacking his aiming for his stomach with the other end, but Adam read her and ignored the feint, stepping smoothly out of the way of her strike. 

He brought his staff up, spun it above his head in a helicopter kata, leaving his front open, but even as Adora struck out for his chest, he lowered the spinning staff so that it knocked her strike astray and came around to end its rotation on Adora’s shoulder. 

“One-zero,” the man called, and Adora froze, panting. Their sparring had never been like this—this was amazing, this was something really special. She hadn’t felt a connection like this since Catra—

She couldn’t get distracted. 

Adora laughed off the point, holding her staff between her legs for a second to repin her flyaway bangs out of her face. “You got lucky, old man.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Adam shot back, and Adora was gratified to see that he was at least sweating, chest heaving as he took in air.

“Three-two-one,” Adora heard, and she quickly squared up again, staff held diagonally from the center, protecting as much of her torso as she could manage. 

The circling began again, and before Adam could get a read on her, Adora struck out as quickly as she could, swinging at Adam’s shoulder again, letting the staff slide through her hands until she held it from the end, increasing its reach as much as possible. 

Adam just got his staff up in time, blocking it with a horizontal defensive move, but Adora let her staff bounce off his and redirected it towards his opposite hip. His grip was slightly off, his left hand a few inches off from the center of the staff—it would be off-balance, hard for him to redirect its momentum back down—

And her staff hit his hip. A quick match, thank goodness—she needed to get wins in where she could— 

“One-one.” 

They danced around each other again at the man’s countdown, dodging and weaving, pushing and pulling like the tide, coming close to landing hits but never _quite_ making it—before Adora finally got Adam to misstep, tangle his footwork up, and as he was just slightly off-balance, she stuck her staff between his legs, and he fell heavily to the ground, flat on his ass. She leveled the staff at his neck, and the man sighed. 

“Two-one, but watch yourself, Cadet.” 

Adora nodded repentantly, but couldn’t help the smug grin as she held out her hand for Adam to take. 

“Sorry about that,” she laughed, and he rolled his eyes against his own smile. 

“The day you’re actually sorry about beating me is the day I die,” he huffed, rubbing his butt ruefully. 

“Fair.” 

The next set ended after a flurry of blurred strikes three-or-so minutes later with Adora pinned on the ground by Adam’s staff across her hips. 

“Two-two.” 

The final set dragged on. They were both exhausted, after hours of training that morning plus the fiercely competitive sparring that neither of them was willing to lose, and Adora felt herself begin to lag, even as she saw it seep into Adam’s movements. His movements became sloppier, his spins less coordinated, his resets milliseconds slower. 

But Adora wasn’t much better, and she knew Adam had better stamina than her—she’d have to end this sooner rather than later, or it wouldn’t end well for her. 

As he swung just-slightly-lethargically at her head—an illegal move—she ducked just enough to feel the staff slide across her pinned-up bangs, and swung at his staff with her own, in the same direction he was swinging it. The extra energy in his swing threw him off-balance, so as she went for his opposite side, he couldn’t bring his staff down in time. She landed the hit. 

They froze, waiting for the man’s ruling. 

“Three-two. Cadet Adora Grayskull, you are the winner.”

Adora laughed freely, dropping her staff and launching herself at Adam. He stumbled as he tried to catch her, and they fell onto the mat. 

This is what freedom felt like. This is what _connection_ felt like. 

“Congratulations, cadets,” the man said, smile not quite reaching his frosty green eyes. “You are drift compatible.”

***

Adora woke to the klaxon, saw the screen to the side of her bed, and was immediately flushed full of adrenaline. 

_It’s time!_

She jumped off her bunk bed and pounded on her brother’s mattress. 

“Adam! Get up.”

“What time is it?” He grumbled sleepily, sitting up and feeling around for his padded bodysuit. 

“Two in the morning,” Adora grinned, fingers flying as she braided her hair back. She ran to the sink, sticking her toothbrush in her mouth. 

Adam paused, one leg in the black bodysuit. “What’s happening? Why the hell am I up?” 

“There’s a big one coming,” Adora spoke around her toothbrush, pausing to kick at the punching bag hung in the center of their room. 

Adam grabbed at her leg as it shot past him, and Adora stumbled, very nearly falling flat on her face.

“Hey!” She sputtered, almost spitting toothpaste everywhere. “That was low, even for you.” 

Adam winked, zipping up his red jacket, ruffling his hair into a slightly more organized mess. “What’s happening, again?”

“A category three, the very first. We’re being deployed.”

Adam groaned good-naturedly, clapping his arm around Adora’s shoulders for a brief hug, before jogging down the hallway to the deployment chamber. Adora followed close at his heels, stepping on them as often as she could sync their steps. He glared at her, but otherwise ignored her attempts to irritate him. 

The dark prep area was already bustling by the time they got there. People jogged across the metallic room, carrying tablets. Microphoned techs sat in front of huge holo-computers (which provided the only light for the room), running diagnostics. Their uniform specialists were in a little chamber off to the side, waiting for them with the neurally-reactive suits. And a walkway led off the ten-story high balcony to the opening in the helmet of their enormous, steel-blue jaeger, _Battle Cat._

It was almost a scene from Adora’s dreams. _Almost_ perfect.

The way cleared before them as they marched to their dressing room. They stood straight, side-by-side in front of their uniforms, exchanging wide grins. 

“Our fifth drop,” Adam reminded her proudly. 

“Let’s go five-for-five,” Adora smiled, holding out her fist. 

He bumped it, but withdrew his arm, embarrassed, as a uniform specialist squinted at him, holding up the armored, white sleeves of his uniform. 

Adora held as still as she could, despite her excitement, as they strapped on her closely-fitted armored chest plate and pants. As they moved to her arms, the Marshal walked into the room. Adora saluted quickly, leaving the man who’d been strapping on her vambrace to glare at her. 

“Sergeants,” the Marshal said sharply, her long, light pink hair streaming behind her as she stepped into the room, despite the still air. 

“Marshal.” 

She came to a stop in front of them, standing at her full height, several inches taller than either of them. “As you’re both aware, this is the very first category three we’ve ever seen. You’re to keep the fight at least three miles off the coast. Please be careful, and be smart about this.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Adora said, and they saluted.

“All right,” the Marshal sighed, before her eyes hardened. “Well, you know the drill. Let’s go.” 

Adam ran his hand through his wavy, blonde hair, attempting some semblance of normality in his bedhead before sliding his helmet on.

Adora put hers on, too, and they lumbered across the bridge and into the head of their jaeger, stepping easily into the side-by-side rigs, sliding their arms into place with a series of satisfying _clicks._ The techs ran their hands along the metal connections, checking them, before stepping back out onto the balcony. 

The microphoned head tech flipped a final lever on his switchboard before looking up into the cockpit. “You all ready?” 

“Hell yeah,” Adora laughed. She caught Adam’s subtler laugh from the rig to her right and sent a grin his way. 

“Alright. Drift commencing in three, two, one—” 

The memories were different every time, but they were always brushed in a strobing blue light, flashing at just a couple of frames per second, like an old movie. 

_—Adora laughed, giddy, as Mom pushed her on the swing. “Higher!” She giggled, and Mom huffed a laugh, pushing her just a little harder the next time she swung back. Adam was climbing a tree near the swingset, and Mom reminded him to be careful—_

_—They were a little older, a little taller. There was a huge commotion, an enormous crash. They ran home from the park to their house, breathing in the dusty air, coughing. The whole neighborhood was destroyed. Adam searched for their house—it wasn’t there anymore, replaced by a pile of rubble. He heard Dad’s voice from the rubble, telling them to get out, to run. He hesitated for the slightest moment, but took Adora’s hand, and they sprinted away, as fast as their legs would carry them—_

_—A teenaged Adam sat at the dinner table with his adoptive parents, the perfect nuclear family. He passed the chicken to his mother, asked for the potatoes, thanked his father as he handed over the bowl—_

_—Adora felt it coming, felt the play click together just seconds before Catra passed her the ball from right midfield, and Adora was off down the field, sprinting off towards the left of the goal, completely outstripping the other team’s defense, shooting—_

“Neural handshake complete.” 

Adora snapped out of the memories, saw the jaeger’s helmet display in front of her, but still sensed Adam’s consciousness not far off. 

“Right hemisphere calibrating.” 

They raised their outer arms—Adora’s left, Adam’s right—which held the glowing control halos.

“Left hemisphere calibrating.” 

They raised their inner arms, locking them into place. 

And they brought their hands together in a salute, palm against fist. 

The bay doors opened in front of them, revealing a raging storm—a starless night. The waves crashed higher than the bottom of the carrier’s wall, flooding into the hangar. 

“Hold the kaiju three miles off the coast, Rangers.” 

They strained to take a step, and the seven-thousand-ton jaeger moved slowly with them, stepping out into the ocean.

There was a light off in the distance, bobbing and weaving in the water. Adora checked the radar on the jaeger’s display.

“There’s a civilian boat out here,” Adora called into her helmet mic. 

“Do not get distracted from your mission, Rangers.”

Adora could almost hear the Marshal’s suspicious squint in those few words. But she remembered the reason she’d gotten into all this in the first place, and she turned to Adam, smirking. 

Adam picked up on her half-formed thought through the Drift and sent a near-identical smirk back at her. 

They had been given the power to be heroes, and they would not let that power go to waste. 

“Rangers, you are protecting a city of fifteen million people. Do _not_ let—” 

Adora switched off her earpiece, in such an intrinsic movement that she knew Adam had done the same. They marched sluggishly towards the boat, fighting against the jaeger-knee-deep ocean, their steps sending water splashing high, and they scooped under the five-person fishing boat, holding it steady against the strong winds. 

_Get them out,_ Adora caught from Adam, and they turned away, walking the ship back towards shore. They only needed a couple of minutes of leeway to put it down and get back—

They flew forward—the dull pain transmitted to Adora’s back through her suit told her that they’d been struck from behind—and splashed weightily into the ocean, dropping the fishing boat as they automatically threw their hands in front to catch themselves. 

They found their footing on the ocean floor, rising slowly from their knees. The boat had flown fifty-or-so feet away, and the five fishermen swam desperately back towards it through the enormous waves. 

_Leave them,_ Adora thought. _Behind us—_

Adam agreed with her, and they spun sluggishly around, just fast enough to catch the kaiju’s next blow full in the helmeted faceplate. 

They were thrown back-first into the water. Adora’s back smacked hard against the rig, knocking the breath out of her. A tiny crack showed on the helmet’s screen, a line of black through the weapons display. 

Adam probed at her, wondering how she was, and she caught her breath, moving in sync with him to get the jaeger back to its feet. 

_I’m okay. Just took me by surprise._

They were up in time to meet the kaiju’s next attack head-on. It punched towards them with a scaly, four-fingered, clawed hand, and they acted on instinct to catch the fist in their own hand, twisting to throw the kaiju into the water. 

As the kaiju roared, rising again from the depths of the ocean, Adora and Adam charged the plasma cannon on _Gipsy Danger’s_ chest. It charged again, its horned head aiming for their shoulder. The cannon fired, ripping a glowing hole in the kaiju’s scaly arm, right before the horn stabbed into their armored left shoulder. 

Adora screamed hoarsely, clutching at her arm. The _pain—_ it burned through her veins, dancing across her skin, the worst electrocution she’d ever felt. 

Red lights flashed on the display. LEFT ARM DAMAGED. 10% POWER. Droplets of water fell inside the helmet, glistening white and blue and yellow in the jaeger’s internal lighting. 

_Adora!_

Next to her, Adam was reaching for his own left arm, reacting to her pain. But he stood up more quickly than her, and saw the kaiju coming in for the kill. 

She gritted her teeth against the pain and stood straight again. The jaeger’s arm was completely gone. But they charged up the plasma cannon once again, bracing themselves against the kaiju’s momentum—

The kaiju’s horn ripped again through their armor, this time aimed at the head. As it breached the layers and layers of titanium and aluminum and kevlar and wiring, Adora’s vision was overcome by Adam’s, as his fear overpowered all of her thoughts. 

The horn tore completely through the helmet, coming straight for him. He screamed, and the horn severed his rig. It withdrew as he hung there on half-fractured wires, but as he regained his feet, the kaiju reached for him with a clawed hand, ripping him from the helmet. 

Adora screamed, falling limp in her rig, completely devastated by Adam’s terror—the faces of their parents, her face, his adoptive parents—playing with him as a park when they were kids—laughing with him after a long day’s training—his pain, his overwhelming love, a bright light, and the slightest brush of a _good-bye_ , and then—suddenly, nothing. 

She stayed there, empty, frozen, for a moment.

But the kaiju prowled around her, like a lion circling its prey, and she thoughtlessly charged the cannon again, firing repeatedly on the kaiju’s body. Even after it had fallen, motionless, into the water, she kept firing, until the carcass was no longer recognizable. 

_Gone._

The emptiness—to have _felt_ him one second—to have _been_ him one second, and now—

She searched the water around her desperately, flipping on the jaeger’s floodlights, but she was acting on a desolate hope. She had _felt—_ she _knew—_

Adora struggled to pull herself together, calming her anguished breathing, her desperate tears, trying to push the feeling of _death_ as far away as she could. She breathed heavily against her sobs as she strained to move the jaeger, shouldering alone the load meant for two, pushing through the dying thunderstorm and colossal waves, ignoring the pools of water that pushed in through the gaping hole in the helmet, crossing the seemingly vast ocean, until she saw land, fell onto the shore, hit the emergency latch on her rig, and crawled out of the ruined jaeger. 

_Adam._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love you all! thanks for reading!
> 
> most especially I appreciate womenlovingwonderwoman for finding time to edit my things in her crazy busy schedule <3 go follow her on Tumblr and check her works out on ao3 :)
> 
> I'm apparently obsessed with martial arts so here you go: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENqMy1BU2-Y reference for the katas.


	3. reunited

The stars were still out. 

The flow of people tumbling out of the bus carried Adora down the steep stairs, but she managed to anchor herself to the sidewalk, a rock parting a tumbling river. 

She couldn’t help but look at the tiny spots of light in wonder. It was a kind of centering ritual, one she and her therapist had struck upon years ago. There were so many here, so far from civilization. Their simple, flickering beauty, underlaid with a vast eternal significance—they’d always fascinated her; if she hadn’t gone into the army, she’d have had her heart set on the stars. 

A few times, she’d let Catra convince her to sneak out to go stargazing. They’d each wear one of Adora’s coats—hers were always warmer—and bring Adora’s dark blue comforter to protect against the frozen earth. Those were nights full of cold fingers locked together, of loud laughter fading into quiet giggles as the stars rotated around them, of whispered, teary confessions, all watched over by a diamond-studded sky. 

Was Catra looking up at the same stars as her? 

Was Adam up there somewhere, looking down? 

An alarm on her phone went off five minutes before the hour, reminding her to rejoin the endless grind of capitalism. Adora joined the others making their ways into the concrete, high-ceilinged, abandoned cargo hold. They were unkempt, unwashed, and dressed in dirty heavy-duty jeans and work boots, worn with months and years of hard labor. She caught a glimpse of herself, distorted and dimmed in the steel wall, as she walked in: not much better off than them, with her thick, protective cargo pants and overworn army jacket—not  _ the  _ jacket, but one less burdened than her red uniform jacket. 

The hard hat meant she couldn’t wear her high ponytail. She’d been more than willing to make the sacrifice when it meant piloting a jaeger, but now… it was wearing on her, along with the full-time physicality of construction work, and the awful knowledge that she wasn’t doing everything she could to  _ protect,  _ not in  _ this _ job. 

She and the others milled about the overseer, waiting for the clock to strike nine, when he would assign positions. She saw a few familiar faces, smiled at them as brightly as she could manage, getting a nod in response—but these people never lasted long, for one reason or another. 

The overseer stood on his crate, holding out the passes he had for the day. “All right, you want the good news, or the bad news?” 

“Bad news,” someone shouted. 

“Bad news is three guys died working the top of the wall yesterday.” 

A moment of silence. Adora’s heart wrenched.  _ Three people. Dead. I should have—I should— _

She tore herself from the inevitable stream of thought that would lead her to  _ that night, _ and forced herself to focus on the overseer. 

“And the good news?” She asked, projecting over the crowd.  _ Hopefully—  _

“Three new open spots, top of the wall.” 

Adora exhaled slowly, deflating. It was gonna be a long day. 

She took her regular pass, middle of the wall (and middle pay), and snagged a backpack, pre-filled with tools. A thick cord was attached to where the last worker had left off working on her section, and she carefully clipped on her harness, double- and triple-checking its strength. She rappelled up the steel beams, eventually finding a section that still needed to be soldered. And she sat, straddling the beam, welding goggles on, beginning another eight hours of her life. 

The stars disappeared completely into the pale orange sunrise after the first seventeen minutes. 

In coastal Alaska, mid-November temperatures were unforgiving. The day ended at five, right before the weather got almost habitable, and right before she became frozen solid to her metal seat. She slid gratefully down the beam right at the bell. As she returned her gear, massaging her numb hands, she heard someone—Huntara?—swear loudly from behind her, and she spun around, searching for the danger.

The TV showed the still-distressing sight of a kaiju emerging from the sea on some distant shore. Adora was drawn closer, feet moving without her permission. She watched with bated breath as the kaiju came face-to-face with the Coastal Wall, which she and many of her acquaintances had spent years working on. 

The kaiju _ —a category three,  _ Adora thought, judging its size quickly against the hovering helicopters _ — _ roared angrily at the wall, throwing itself at it. The metal bent against its weight, and the concrete cracked. 

_ What number kaiju is this? Twenty? Twenty-five?  _

It charged at the wall again, headfirst this time, and the crack expanded dangerously, leaving a hole. 

_ Dammit,  _ Adora thought.  _ That’s gonna take so much time to—  _

The kaiju breached the wall, crashing closer and closer to the shore. Two jaegers were waiting for it on the other side, and Adora turned away, sighing. 

_ Three years of my life— _

_ Fuck.  _

She let herself be carried away in the crowd, fighting the suddenly almost-overwhelming urge to pummel each steel beam they passed on the way to the bus stop. 

Normally she might talk to Huntara and the others during the drive, but her still-shaking hands and racing thoughts meant that wasn’t an option, this time. She put her headphones in, putting her hood up—both for the padding as she leaned her head against the window, and for the added privacy. 

What was she going to do? The past three years, and  _ nothing _ —how could she justify going back, when all her efforts were so clearly useless? 

Her apartment was a little over an hour away, but she was one of the lucky ones; the bus was still almost completely full when she signalled her stop. She balanced carefully as she made her way to the front, taking her headphones out to thank the bus driver with as much of a smile as she could manage, and stepping down the steep stairs onto the cracked sidewalk in front of her apartment building. 

As Adora poured a half-box of pasta into a pot of boiling water, she realized that working on the wall was essentially her only option. She could quit, just not show up tomorrow, but what would that earn her? She’d last about a month before she’d have to find another job, and that one would be even more useless. 

May as well just keep going. Even the three minutes the wall had held the kaiju back had the potential to save hundreds of evacuating people. It was better than waitressing, anyway.

Her alarm went off at five the next morning. 

As she stepped off the bus onto the sidewalk in front of the warehouse, the stars glimmered in her peripheral vision, but she kept pace with Huntara, letting the woman draw her into a conversation about a new hamburger place in town. It sounded good.

There weren’t any deaths to announce today, at least, and she got to wear her warmer gloves. And as she turned in her kit, the television droned on normal news: reconstruction, the UN deciding where to pull money from to fund the kaiju war, and a politician who had been caught in a lie. Nothing too exciting—

But people began to turn, and whispers spread throughout the crowd, accompanied by a loud, rhythmic whirring that Adora hadn’t heard in years.

There was a helicopter descending on the parking lot outside the warehouse. There were only so many things that could mean, all of which were bad for her. She pushed through the crowd, marching towards the helicopter with a confidence she didn’t feel. They’d obviously tracked her down  _ here,  _ in the middle of nowhere, so there was no hiding from this. 

Marshal Angella Brightmoon glided down the stairs out of the helicopter, long, black overcoat flapping in the gentle breeze—which cut straight through Adora’s thin jacket, making her shiver uncontrollably—as she approached. 

The last night she’d seen the Marshal—

_ —Adam smiling over at her from his rig—  _

“Adora,” she smiled, extending a hand. “How lovely it is to see you.” 

“Marshal.” Adora sighed, reluctantly taking the proffered hand, willing her hand not to shake in the Marshal’s grip. “You, too. Long time no see.” 

“May I have a word?” 

“Step into my office,” Adora drawled tiredly, turning and leading them to the back of the warehouse, a corner left mostly empty by the gossiping workers (and kept that way by the intimidating woman at the Marshal’s side). Adora lounged against the back wall, scraping her unkempt hair into a higher ponytail with unsteady hands, waiting for the Marshal to speak. 

“Adora, I’m sure you’ve been keeping up with the news,” Angella began, after examining the area for a suitable place to sit and deciding that she’d rather just stand. “The UN has decommissioned the jaeger program; they’ve chosen to focus their funding and efforts on the Coastal Wall.” 

“It’s worked against category twos,” Adora supplied futilely.

“Yes. Well, the Coastal Wall is obviously inadequate against even the category three kaiju, and a category four would simply be able to swim straight through it.”

Adora’s shoulders tightened, tension creeping up her neck.  _ A four? Is that—they exist? How the hell do we fight _ —

“However, I have received permission to consolidate the jaeger program into one facility, based in Hong Kong. We’re recommissioning old jaegers, reactivating old pilots. And there’s an old jaeger in storage that could use a pilot.” 

_ Battle Cat.  _

The mere thought of the name brought her back to an arm ripped off, a gaping hole in the helmet, an empty rig—

“Marshal, they told me the neural scarring was too great—they told me I’d never be able to set foot in a jaeger again, that it’d kill me—” 

“We’ve found a solution,” the Marshal interrupted. “A pill you’ll take once a day, that will allow you to pilot again.” 

“And they’re willing to overlook—”

“—the other reason for your decommission, yes,” the Marshal finished. 

“I, uh—I don’t know—” 

_ —Adam’s utterly  _ terrified _ thoughts becoming her own, a moment of pure, indescribable pain, their parents face, her face, and then—  _

“Marshal, I’m not sure I can go back.” 

“Adora,” Angella murmured, such a sharp contrast from her normally sharp exterior that Adora started, “I know how you feel, perhaps better than anyone else. I understand your fears, and the lingering memories. I have felt the emotional expense that you have experienced. I know the physical toll piloting alone must have cost you.”

Angella stepped closer, laying her hand gently on Adora’s shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “But I also know how much piloting a jaeger meant to you. The light you had in your eyes, back then—it’s dimmed, now, and I’m sure you’ve felt the difference. I believe piloting truly is your calling, and I want nothing more than to have you back with us, saving the world.” 

Adora remembered the hell she’d been through last night, tossing and turning, wishing she could do  _ anything  _ more helpful. 

She could overcome this, if it meant creating real good in the world again. She could  _ do  _ this, if it meant she could be the hero again. 

“Ok,” she said firmly, swallowing her fears, fighting to ignore the memories clamoring for attention in the back of her mind, before straightening. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” 

The Marshal nodded, wearing a self-satisfied, proud half-smile. “Do you need to arrange anything?” 

“No,” Adora said, remembering her empty, impersonal apartment, shouldering her small bag that contained the only three things she’d care to bring anyway. “There’s nothing.” 

“Perfect.”

The helicopter took them to an airport, where a private jet was waiting. Adora looked at the Marshal, one eyebrow raised, impressed. 

The Marshal just shrugged. “It comes with the rank,” she explained, slipping off her long black coat to reveal a dark blue suit jacket, four gold stars shining on her shoulders (contrasting wildly with the pink hair), and countless medals on her lapel. 

They boarded the plane. Adora sat first, in the spacious area on the plane’s left, and Angella continued to an enclosed room towards the back of the plane, already pulling out a laptop to start what looked like a video conference call. 

The pilot announced that it’d be a nine-hour flight to Hong Kong, and Adora settled in for the long haul. She’d need to brush up on her Cantonese. 

They switched to another helicopter at the landing pad and flew the last hour to the military base, located in Hong Kong Bay. It was almost three in the morning, Alaska time, so it was about six in the evening in Hong Kong. Adora was approaching her physical threshold; hopefully the Marshal would let her go soon. 

“After you’ve gotten some rest, we’ll set you up with a regular schedule,” the Marshal told her. “I think you’ll enjoy what we have going on. It’s very open, a lot more interaction between different jaeger pilots than we’ve had in the past, better training. We’re much better prepared than we were the last time around—you’ll see. It should be very interesting.” 

Adora hummed, eyes drawn out of the window at the beautiful, overcast sky. It was pouring, and something about the mix of the torrential rain and the hustle and bustle of the landing pad as they touched down made her feel at home. 

She stepped gingerly out into the rain, waiting on the helicopter steps as someone carrying a black umbrella approached her, the glistening black canopy shielding the person’s face from her sight. It bobbed and weaved gracefully towards her, dancing through the crowd unscathed. 

When it was so close that she could almost reach out and touch it, the umbrella twirled, sending rain droplets spiraling across its surface, before tilting gently back. 

“Hey, Adora.” 

“Catra?” Adora gasped, reaching for the slick railing as her knees weakened, the fragile sense of peace she’d felt since the rainstorm going up in flames. 

Catra was  _ different.  _ She held herself straighter, more confidently. Her hair was shorter, more tame. Her clothes were more put together than Adora had ever seen them: neat and black, shirt tucked into pants. And her eyes… there was something behind them, something  _ important  _ that Adora couldn’t identify. A different light, somehow. 

But the rasp of her voice as she drawled Adora’s name, the smirk drawing the corner of her smile up— _ that  _ was the same. Surreally familiar. 

_ “Catra,”  _ Adora breathed, pushing her wet bangs out of her eyes, stepping hypnotically down the stairs, ducking under the umbrella. She reached automatically toward the woman, something inside of her unconvinced that she was really, physically there. “What—what are you doing here?” 

Catra’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the umbrella’s handle as her eyes narrowed in warning, and Adora stopped, curling her fingers into a fist and letting her arm fall to her side. 

“I’m the one who recruited you, dummy,” Catra snarked through her obvious discomfort at Adora’s closeness. “Who else would look past all,” she gestured at Adora’s shabby work clothes, “that?”

Adora’s heart panged and she shut her eyes against Catra’s accusing stare, her sharp tone. But Adora  _ knew  _ Catra, she knew Catra would feel threatened by her sudden presence after so many years, and so she accepted the jab for what it was—an admission that Catra cared, even now—and brushed it off. 

So she grinned at Catra, knowing her eyes weren’t quite smiling with her. “It’s nice to see you. I missed you.” 

Catra twirled the umbrella deftly, letting it fall onto her shoulder, leaving Adora just out of its protection.

The rain dripped from Adora’s hair into her eyes as Catra abandoned her to the storm, but she only had to wait a minute under Catra’s calculating gaze before an umbrella was being shoved into her hands. She fumbled, almost dropping it. 

Catra spun on her heel and sauntered back across the landing pad, stepping lithely over puddles and carefully dodging bustling soldiers.

Adora was left in the rain, closed umbrella in hand, staring at Catra’s blurred figure as it disappeared behind a metal garage door. 

The Marshal appeared at Adora’s shoulder, and Adora started, glancing guiltily back at her. 

“Catra went through hundreds of files trying to fill this spot,” the Marshal revealed, smoothly opening an umbrella that she’d pulled from who-knew-where. “For what it’s worth, she never really even considered the others.”

Adora nodded her thanks, wet hands slipping against the umbrella’s opening mechanism.  _ At least she appreciates me professionally,  _ Adora thought,  _ even if she resents me personally.  _ The umbrella handle slid through her hands, and she gave up on it, handing it to a soldier standing at attention at the foot of the helicopter. She was already soaked through, anyways.

Marshal Angella strode gracefully across the asphalt, easily skirting puddles. Even her roller bag behind her didn’t cause a single splash. 

Adora stumbled behind her, ploughing gracelessly through every puddle. The wet morning chill seeped through her clothes into her bones. 

_ Dammit. I really screwed up. I shouldn’t have left her. I knew I shouldn’t have—I didn’t want to—but…  _

_ What can I do to fix this? What can I do to make her forgive me?  _

_ What if I can’t do anything? What if what we had—whatever it was—is broken forever?  _

The Marshal brought her through winding corridors to one of many identical doors off a long hallway, ushering her into a standard room. A twin bed, extra long mattress, grey sheets. Two naked lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. An open closet, four identical hanging uniforms. A minimalist shower crammed in the corner, concrete floor, plastic white curtain. A small, bare desk shoved against the wall. No windows. 

“Thank you,” Adora said, bowing to Angella, who nodded beatifically. 

_ It’s nicer than my apartment,  _ Adora thought sardonically, as the Marshal excused herself from the room.

She turned the shower as hot as it would go and stripped out of her sodden clothes, draping them over the back of the metal desk chair, before stepping in. 

Her shivers—both from the cold and nerves—stopped eventually, the warmth calming her. Her muscles relaxed somewhat, and as anxiety fled, exhaustion seeped back into her body. 

She stepped out, toweled herself off, and dressed in the underwear provided in the single drawer of the closet. It fit her almost too well. They hadn’t provided sweats—Army tradition dictated that she sleep in her underwear—but she’d have appreciated the added comfort _.  _

Adora slipped between the sheets, curling into a ball. The recurring thought that finally allowed her to sleep was that Catra was  _ here, _ and she’d have her first chance in eleven years to make amends for her asinine adolescent mistakes _ — _ maybe things could go back to the way they once were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always thanks to womenlovingwonderwoman for editing (and also for making sure I voted in the election, bless her soul). she has an amazing fic out right now, which I would link to if I knew how, and which has one of my favorite scenes in all of fanfiction in it--be sure to check it out :)
> 
> we're also co-authoring a holiday fic together, which I'm very excited about! it should come out sometime before new year's.
> 
> hope you're all okay :)


	4. history

“You’re Ranger Grayskull, right?” 

Adora looked up from her mashed potatoes, fork halfway to her mouth.

“Oh my god, you  _ are! _ ” The woman in front of her gushed, dropping her tray on the table across from Adora and collapsing onto the bench.

Adora stared at her, nonplussed, moving her fork automatically to her mouth. 

It was empty. Where’d the potatoes gone—

“I’m Ranger Brightmoon, but you can call me Glimmer,” the woman grinned, extending her hand for Adora to shake. 

“Oh!” Adora exclaimed, dropping her fork and taking her hand. “The Marshal’s daughter. I should have guessed, from the—” she gestured to, well,  _ all  _ of her. “Nice to finally meet you.” 

“I tried to get my mom to let me come to the base, like, every day,” Glimmer raved, staring wide-eyed at Adora. “But she kept telling me I was too young, that it was a ‘security breach’ or whatever. It used to make me so mad… Bow!” She called out across the cafeteria. 

Adora turned, barely catching a man waving back to them before he disappeared in the bustling line. He reappeared right behind Glimmer, kissing the top of her head before noticing Adora. 

“Oh! I know you,” he said, setting his tray on the table and reaching a hand out across the table. “Glimmer has made me watch the videos of your drops a thousand times.” 

_ Fuck.  _ So he’d seen Adora at her lowest moment, probably heard her scream in agony, and she didn’t even know who he was. Just great. 

“I’m Bow,” he smiled, hand still outstretched.

She took it. Not like she had a choice, right? “Well, you already know who I am, apparently. But you can call me Adora.”  _ Stay polite— _

“Sorry, yeah, that’s a little weird?” Bow apologized, starting in on his food. “If it makes you feel any better, you could go to the archives and pull up mine and Glimmer’s recordings, too. But they’re probably not as exciting—” he coughed. “We mostly just get routine border duty, anyway.” 

So they were both copilots. Probably dating, from their comfortable closeness and the conspicuous absence of Glimmer’s left hand and Bow’s right from above the table. Adora could admit they were kinda cute together, if she ignored her discomfort at being so thoroughly known to complete strangers.

It wasn’t uncommon for copilots to date each other—Adora had known five or six couples who were brought together through the jaeger program. Drift compatibility already required a degree of similarity to and knowledge of one another. With the addition of the Drift itself, where memories and feelings were exchanged through a fire hose, romantic feelings were very easily amplified and impossible to hide. 

The Drift even created healthier relationships than normal, some psychologists had observed. Not only could there be no secrets in the Drift, but partners understood one another so completely that fights were rare. 

As Adora finished off her potatoes, she felt a pang of longing that she hadn’t in years; she had once hoped to have such a complete relationship of her own. It had been part of her teenaged drive to become a pilot, all those years ago. 

“Hey,” she said slowly, and Bow and Glimmer looked away from each other back to her, “so you guys have been here a while, right?” 

“Yep,” Glimmer said, nodding. “It’s been what, Bow, like four years? Five?” 

Bow blinked, brow furrowed. “When was it… Yeah, five years in April.” 

“So you guys both know Catra, right? Or—” she paused, thinking, remembering the stripes on her uniform jacket that she’d been sporting the previous day. “It’d be Major Weaver, I guess?” 

Glimmer started, glancing around before leaning in. “She doesn’t use that last name any more,” she whispered, “and I’d be careful saying it too loud around here.” 

“You know her?” Adora breathed, leaning over her empty tray. 

“Do I know—of course I—” she coughed as Bow elbowed her unsubtly. “I mean, she’s been at the base as long as we have, and she kind of oversees a lot of things, and she’s—yeah, we know her.”

“So you were recruited with her?” Adora asked, trying not to show her excitement at finally learning something about the years they’d been apart.

“You could say that,” Glimmer said, fighting back a smile. “She went through the same pilot training as us, she just never wanted to actually be a pilot. Went the more managerial side after a couple of years, and ended up here.” 

_ Weird, that she’d give up being a pilot so easily,  _ Adora thought,  _ seeing as that was all she ever seemed to want to do.  _ She’d have to ask Catra about it, once she managed to have a conversation with her.

“Do you know a lot about her?” Adora pushed, but Glimmer shook her head. 

“I’m not sure what she’d want me to tell you,” she said, taking a sip of her water. 

But that statement was telling enough, Adora realized with a shock, because it meant that not only did Glimmer _know_ Catra, but she knew about _Catra and_ _Adora._

It seemed like this pink-haired woman knew her whole life, somehow. 

“How do you—” Adora stuttered out, leaning back in her seat, wringing her hands in front of her.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself, that’s all,” Glimmer advised, reaching across the table to put her hand on Adora’s. “Really, I think she’s okay—or, I think it’d be okay for you to ask. I just don’t want to tell it—it’s her story.” 

Adora clenched her jaw, closing her eyes at the weight of Glimmer’s hand on hers. At least Glimmer seemed like a good kind of friend to have—at least Catra had good friends to confide in. 

“She’s never around, though,” Adora managed, cracking her eyes open to look around the cafeteria again. “I haven’t seen her since I arrived.” 

“She tends to stay out of the spotlight,” Bow acknowledged. “She takes her meals in her office a lot, and her assignments keep her away from the rest of us. But you’ll see her tomorrow, I think, at your compatibility test.” 

So the next time she’d see Catra would be during a probably-hours-long sparring session where she would not only need to be completely focused, but where she’d probably be disgustingly sweaty. Great. 

She’d have to corner her after, somehow, so they could finally talk. 

The group on the next table over stood up to leave, and Adora suddenly realized that almost everyone had left; breakfast was almost over. 

“Oh wait,” Glimmer said, rising in sync with Bow, “you have your tour today, right? With my mom?” 

“Yes, at eight.” Adora pulled out the creased schedule in her pocket to quadruple-check—yep, at eight. 

“We could tag along, if you’d like?” Glimmer asked, grinning encouragingly up at Adora. 

Well, that might make it more interesting, if nothing else. 

The day passed in a blur. It was a pretty run-of-the-mill jaeger base, if several times larger than any she’d seen before. The hangar itself was enormous—probably over three hundred feet tall, and with the square footage of six football fields put side-to-side—it had to be, to fit the five jaegers nestled inside of it, each with their respective balconies and control centers. 

Battle Cat was there, too, in its corner, the techs working on its wiring almost looking like ants compared to its stature. She wasn’t quite ready to sort through the wave of emotions that washed over her at the sight of its nuclear-reactor heart, but she couldn’t resist drawing her hand across its steely blue exterior as they passed.

Maybe Angella could recommend an on-base therapist. 

While the tour was thorough, as far as she could tell, Adora didn’t see Catra again. While Catra avoiding her on purpose wasn’t out of character, she’d retained hope all the same that Catra would seek her out. 

Well, there was always tomorrow. 

***

_ Compatibility tests today! _

Adora had hung her red jacket in her closet, next to the army-issued olive green one. Bringing it had been wishful thinking on her part, but she just couldn’t stop wishing, even if today wasn’t the day.

She shook her head, derailing her train of thought, and threw on her green jacket, heading to the cafeteria in a throng of similarly-dressed soldiers.

She ate a quick, carb-heavy pre-breakfast, popped the three daily pills the Marshal had given her, and jogged outside in a small crowd of green for physical training. She’d been shunted off with the recruits today, but hopefully by tomorrow she’d be reinstated as a jaeger pilot and could train with her new friends.

As Glimmer had warned, Catra was, unfortunately, noticeably absent from the exercises.

It had been ages, and by the end of their hour-long training session, Adora was exhausted. Still, construction was hard physical labor, and she could keep up well enough. 

She dragged herself to breakfast, pulling her folded schedule from her pocket and checking it for the tenth time that day. 

November 13, 2025

Ranger Adora Grayskull

0600 - Wake-up

0630 - PT - Outdoor Grounds

0830 - Breakfast - Mess Hall

0930 - Compatibility Test - Rm. 1274

She’d enjoyed the tests, the first time around. It was a competition; Adora liked winning, and she was good. If today didn’t lead to her finding a potential drift partner, at least she’d be able to beat the shit out of a few recruits. 

She ate alone. Glimmer and Bow still didn’t have to get up for another half hour. Lucky them.

She saw the glances and heard the whispers, but ignored them. It wasn’t the first time she’d been an outcast, and it wouldn’t be the last. Catra was, again, conspicuously absent from the mess hall, along with Marshal Angella, although many other high-ranking officers began to trickle in around 0900. 

Adora finished breakfast early, partially because the stares were starting to wear on her, but mostly because she wasn’t sure where room 1274 was, despite the tour yesterday. She must have zoned out during the one part she actually needed, damn it. As 0930 drew closer, her lack of knowledge made her more and more nervous.

It was a good thing she’d started early, because by the time she wandered down the right hallway, 0930 was long gone. 

Adora marched in with her head held high regardless. 

Room 1274 was a martial arts training room, dominated by a square blue mat in the center of the floor. Thirty-or-so soldiers stood around the mat, in white undershirts and uniform pants, waiting for her. And at the head of the room, on a platform set a couple of steps above the rest of the room, stood Marshal Angella and Catra. 

She bowed. “I’m sorry for my tardiness. I got  _ very _ lost on my way here.” 

Marshal Angella was completely unfazed, but Catra’s annoyance, so evident in her expression, was underlaid with something like fondness. 

It made Adora start, grinning automatically, to see something so soft in Catra’s expression, but when Catra noticed her staring, she wiped it clean.

Adora tore her gaze away and unzipped her jacket, setting it near the wall, and slipped her boots and socks off. There was a container of polished, wooden bo staffs to the right of the door, and she took one, hefted it in her hand. It was balanced from the center. 

She stepped onto the corner of the blue mat and looked up at Marshal Angella for direction. The Marshal called out a name, and a black-haired man, younger than Adora, slightly taller, and well-built, stepped into the opposite corner of the mat. He spun his staff nervously from hand to hand. 

“Begin,” the Marshal commanded, and Adora held her staff in front of her and bowed, as the man opposite her did the same. He warily got into his ready stance, and Adora smirked. 

This would be easy. 

She slid the staff through her hands, holding it near the end, making use of its length, and swung smoothly, quickly out from her shoulder to the man’s side, making contact just under his elbow. She held the position, as the rules of bojutsu dictated, making it clear to the judge that she’d landed the hit. 

The man winced at the force she’d put behind the blow. He hadn’t moved an inch from his starting position— _ this must be one of his first fights,  _ Adora thought bemusedly. 

She wouldn’t go any easier on him for it. 

“One-zero,” Catra called out, and Adora startled away from the man, glancing wide-eyed at Catra. She’d almost forgotten she was there, in the thrill of the fight. 

Adora took her ready stance again, and the man looked at her warily, staff held slightly lower this time, making his reach longer. 

She hid her smile. He was too easy. 

On the signal, the man inched forward, swinging hard at Adora’s shoulder as soon as he was in reach. His weight shifted slightly at the last second— _ it’s a feint.  _ She jabbed her staff straight under his guard into his stomach, trying to lighten the blow—she just needed to hit him, not incapacitate him—but he dodged backward at the last second. 

He recovered his footing quickly, and his staff came flying towards her face.  _ He’s not holding back any more,  _ Adora thought, blocking him firmly, feeling the vibrations from the blow travel through her staff and into her arms. 

She twisted her staff, pushing his off to the side and resetting her feet, holding her staff from the center—better for close-range combat. 

He began to circle the mat, feet barely crossing over each time he took a step. A mistake. 

Adora grinned fiercely at him, basking in his confusion and fear, before sticking her staff right between his ankles as he took another step. He tripped sideways, falling out of the ring. 

“Two-zero,” Catra drawled, making a mark on her clipboard with a furrowed brow, and something Adora recognized—with a burst of hope—as an almost-fond exasperation. 

They reset, and Adora swung first again, meeting his stick with a satisfying  _ clack.  _ She pushed him, blows coming quicker and quicker as his defense fell behind. Finally, as he went to block a blow to his head, she feinted, and diverted the back of her stick to his chest.

She held her position, low to the ground, left arm forward, right arm behind, back end of the stick set on the man’s sternum. 

“Three-zero,” came the ruling, and Adora straightened, bowing to the man as he left the mat despondently.

_ Not a good fit.  _

The Marshal called another name, and another man took his place on the mat across from her. This man was cocky, and all too easy to take down. A three-one win.  _ Not a good fit. _

A third contestant came, this one a woman, white-haired, a few inches taller and maybe a hundred pounds heavier than Adora. 

She grinned at Adora. “Ranger Grayskull! I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so excited to finally—” 

“Begin,” the Marshal called, and the other woman started. 

“Oh, sorry—” 

Adora bowed, and the woman bowed just a second too late. Adora held her ready position, holding the staff from the center—she had the feeling she’d need the extra speed and strength holding it from the center would give her—waiting for the woman to finish the bow: the sportsmanlike thing to do. 

She moved slower than the previous contestants, circling the mat heavily, but somehow not losing any grace for it. The woman’s grin widened the longer they circled one another.

Adora felt a sense of premonition just a second before the woman’s staff was against her neck. She hadn’t even seen the woman move—how had she—

“One-zero,” Catra called, and Adora heard her smirk loud and clear. 

“I’m so sorry!” The woman gushed. “Did I hurt you?” 

Adora assured her that she was fine as they reset. 

She narrowed her eyes, focusing a little harder, hoping to catch the barest movements preceding the woman’s strikes. And this time, as the woman struck out lightning fast, Adora managed to block just in time, although her staff recoiled with the strength of the blow. 

Adora felt the thrill of a true challenge spread through her, and she relaxed into it, spun her staff once in a show of confidence, and to reassure herself that she  _ knew  _ this game. 

She met the quick strike again and again, just barely getting her staff around in time. She’d miss one eventually, she had to mount her own attack—

Adora saw an opening, just a second between strikes, and swung in at the woman’s midriff, only for the woman to block her handily, such a strong block that Adora almost bounced away. She grit her teeth against her mistake. She almost felt outmatched. 

But she slid the smooth staff through her hands, awaiting her next opportunity. 

It came as the woman reached a little too far over Adora’s shoulder, and Adora jabbed  _ hard  _ at the woman’s head, making contact with a  _ thunk.  _

“One-one, but the next head shot will get you thrown out, Ranger,” the Marshal called over the crowd. 

“Sorry!” Adora whispered, wincing, but the woman laughed it off. 

“It’s fine,” she smiled through a grimace. 

Adora felt awful. This woman was obviously so sweet, and had apologized just for lightly tapping Adora earlier, and then she had to go and pull that—

Out of the corner of her eye, Adora saw Catra made another mark on her clipboard, and Adora could almost hear her  _ tsk.  _

“What is it?” Adora exclaimed, snapping back up, turning to face Catra square on, holding her staff tucked up behind her shoulder. “What is so wrong with the way I fight?” 

Catra scoffed, letting her clipboard fall to her side. “Nothing, Adora. Get over yourself.” 

“No, tell me. I can tell—I see the notes you’re taking, the faces you keep making—tell me what you see that’s so wrong.” 

Catra gritted her teeth audibly, and a cold shiver ran up Adora’s spine.

“Oh, you want to know?” Catra snarled. “Then I’ll tell you. You get everything you want, right? Why not this, too?” 

Adora’s eyebrows drew together, her forehead crinkled, even as she felt her anger grow. “Wait, what—”

“You’re too cocky, too aggressive. You’re fighting to kill, not to find a partner. You fight—” Catra paused, visibly struggling to get the words out. “You fight like you only care about yourself,” she finally managed.

“Why don’t you come down here, then? Show me a real fight. Or are you too afraid?” 

As soon as she’d spoken, Adora knew that she’d made a mistake; she’d touched a nerve. This wasn’t the path to forgiveness—but it was too late.

Catra’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw set. Marshal Angella inspected her, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Catra shrugged her off. She set down her clipboard, eyes never leaving Adora’s, and unbuttoned her uniform shirt. She threw her shirt, balled up, at Adora’s chest, and Adora caught it on pure reflex, eyes going wide. 

Catra used to get pissed all the time, but to have it directed at her—

Catra dropped her boots on the steps next to the clipboard, ignoring them as they tumbled down the two steps to the lowest level of the room. She snatched a staff from one of the men in the circle around them, snarling at him when he resisted. Her toes scuffed the corner of the mat as she took her place. 

So they were really doing this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! I suck at schedules and I apologize. But the next two chapters are also both completely finished and will therefore be posted very soon :) :) :) hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> as always, thanks to womenlovingwonderwoman for editing--she's the best. 
> 
> we are co-authoring a holiday fic right now--the link is below, since I'm not high-tech enough to embed links--but y'all should go check it out :) it is very fluffy, compared to literally everything else I've ever written.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492911/chapters/69817536


	5. synergy

They bowed, staring at each other even as their backs bent. They rose as one and brought their staffs in front of them. 

Catra stepped to her right, and Adora mirrored her. Catra advanced to circle closer than Adora was used to, almost touching her staff to Adora’s. She hadn’t been this close to Catra—hadn’t seen her freckles, her tiny nose that used to get her teased, her delicate jaw— 

_ Focus. _

Adora stepped lightly, never letting her ankles cross, keeping her eyes locked with Catra’s. She waited for the slightest flinch, watching the intent behind those angry, closed-off, mismatched eyes. Catra was  _ mad,  _ but there was some emotion behind it, something lurking in her furrowed eyebrows, something in her tight lips, something Adora couldn’t quite— 

Adora had some forty pounds and a couple of inches on Catra, but she knew from soccer that Catra was always faster, remembered how Catra could outstrip even Adora down the field in suicides, how she could so easily strip the ball from Adora in scrimmages. Adora remembered, she processed— 

She saw it, then: Catra, once so quick to anger and quicker to brawl, wasn’t going to make the first move. She’d wait for Adora to make a mistake before pouncing.

So she waited another second before darting forward, tracing through the air just above Catra’s head as Catra bent fluidly backwards under the staff. Adora was carried helplessly through the spiral by her momentum, and Catra straightened quickly, reaching out almost lazily to tap Adora on the shoulder with her staff. 

Adora stopped, staring wide-eyed at her old friend. Catra had beaten her almost effortlessly—in no more than two moves, and in the span of five seconds. 

_ Damn. I’ve got to be smarter than that. I have to pull myself together.  _

Adora knocked the staff away from her shoulder with a light laugh, but she felt the tension of losing, of having to be the best, creeping into her shoulders. 

They reset. Catra smirked, eyes narrowed, stepping even lighter as they pivoted around each other, drawn closer and closer on each orbit—closer, where Catra’s speed would give her the advantage, Adora realized. Adora watched every movement, determined to wait this time, to defend first, to find Catra’s weakness. 

Catra’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and Adora instinctively raised her staff to meet Catra’s between them, arms vibrating with the wood at the surprising strength behind the blow. 

Catra’s eyes grew brighter, lit by a strange fire, and she struck again, lightning-fast. Again, it was all Adora could do to anticipate her move—somehow her staff ended up in the right place, level with her hip. The fire blazed even hotter, and Adora was almost forced to back away by the fierce emotion behind it. But Catra advanced, keeping Adora on the back foot, attacking again and again, with such speed and strength that Adora could only just keep up. 

Adora felt the tape marking the edge of the mat under her socked foot, and braced herself against it. She couldn’t back farther away—she’d have to make her stand here. 

Catra spun the staff from behind her right arm, in a perfect rendition of the first kata Adora had ever learned—

_ —Adam spinning the staff from behind his right shoulder, Adora attempting to time her block to catch the blurred staff perfectly, but missing completely, the staff hitting her painfully in the side. Adam beginning the spin again, nodding at her to try again and again and again until she finally— _

Adora timed it perfectly, knocking Catra’s staff out of its revolution and out to the side with the left half of her staff, leaving Catra’s left side completely open. With the right half, in the same sweep, she aimed to hit Catra beneath her outstretched arm, but Catra darted to the side just in time.

But Adora had the upper hand now, and she pushed Catra back towards the center of the mat, and then back into her own corner. She held Catra farther away, almost the length of half a staff away from her body, where she’d have time to react if Catra attacked again.

But Catra didn’t attack, didn’t have time to, and Adora struck again and again, before finally landing a too-heavy blow on Catra’s side. 

“One-one,” Marshal Angella said, a note of worry lacing her voice. 

Catra’s eyes were so wide, her pupils blown, her breath coming fast. 

_ Is she…?  _ Adora thought, but then she realized— _ she’s scared. Terrified.  _

She dropped her staff and stepped away, holding her hands placatingly in front of her. 

Catra didn’t move for a long moment, eyes wide open, staring at a spot over Adora’s shoulder, but she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head minutely, before opening them again and refocusing on Adora, sliding on a slightly-less-sure smirk. 

“That all you got, Princess?” She asked, and Adora winced at the old nickname. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Catra,” Adora said softly, hoping nobody could hear her. “I never did.” 

“Well, the ship has sailed on that one,” Catra said, prodding her side with a grimace, her hushed voice underlaid with that same confusing mixture of fierce anger and  _ something else  _ Adora had heard earlier. 

She squatted carefully to pick up her staff, keeping her eyes locked on Catra, but Catra stepped back to her side of the mat, twirling her staff thoughtlessly. 

Adora walked somewhat heavier back to her corner, wiping her slick hands on her pants, lifting her shirt up to wipe sweat away from where it threatened to drip into her eyes. 

_ Damn. Has this really only been two sets?  _

Adora reluctantly began set three, tempering her moves, fretting about using too much force, about pressing Catra too hard. 

But she couldn’t beat Catra without fighting with everything she had, and Catra won set three handily. 

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ hold back on me now,” Catra hissed, her staff shoving painfully into the hollow of Adora’s neck. “Fight me like you mean it.”

Adora coughed heavily as Catra let the staff fall away, forcing down the automatic nausea at pressure on her throat. 

_ I guess I deserved that.  _

She played the next round for keeps, and was rewarded with a careful, light tap to Catra’s hip.

Catra hissed delicately at the loss, but the fire in her eyes had calmed somewhat, thank God. 

“Two-two,” Marshal Angella said, almost reverentially, and they reset for the last time. 

Adora had never been this sweaty and exhausted in her life. She’d already been tired after the training that morning; her left arm was throbbing with that old pain; her undershirt stuck uncomfortably to her body; sweat dripped down her face; her pants were beginning to restrict her movement with their wet friction; the staff was getting increasingly difficult to grip, as it slipped gracelessly through her fingers.

One more set. 

Adora had the momentum, having won the last set, and so she immediately advanced on Catra, foregoing the circle. She pressed Catra into her corner, spinning towards her shoulder, her thigh, her opposite hip, as Catra dodged, refusing to engage. The slipperiness of her staff between her fingers worried her more and more with every blow—

Catra blocked a strike to her knee, finally, and at the unexpected force against her staff, Adora felt it slide completely out of her hand, flying across the room before hitting the wall and clattering to the ground. 

Adora froze, staring at Catra, who gave her the smuggest look Adora had ever seen. 

And Catra spun the staff towards Adora’s side. Adora rolled, feeling the staff pass just barely above her. She ended the roll on her feet, facing Catra squarely, just in time to jump over a merciless blow to her ankles—which still almost managed to trip her up. 

Catra twirled the staff above her in what had once been Adam’s signature move—the helicopter kata—and Adora remembered their practice, wondered if she could pull it off moins the staff—

_ One revolution—two revolutions—three revolutions— _

On the fourth revolution, Adora reached into the wake of the helicopter’s wooden blade and felt it slap against the palm of her hand. She pulled hard, and the staff fell away behind them, as they fell down onto the mat, Catra landing on top. 

While Catra was still dazed, Adora rolled them, swinging her leg over to sit squarely on Catra’s abdomen, pressing heavily down on her. 

Unlike in bojutsu, weight played an immense role in who won a jiu-jitsu match. 

But Adora suddenly realized just how close they were, how long it had been since they’d touched at all, how familiar that scent and  _ warmth  _ was from nights spent curled up together in a tiny bed—

Catra managed to sneak her leg around Adora’s and push away Adora’s posting arm in a single movement, and Adora found herself being rolled onto her back. Catra landed on top, sitting squarely on Adora’s lower stomach, legs spread outside of Adora’s to prevent her from flipping them again, arms posted on either side of Adora’s shoulders.

Catra’s breath, coming in hot pants, brushed across Adora’s neck, and she felt the strength automatically leave her body. Catra’s body pressed into her own, weight flattening her against the mat, her eyes glancing down to Adora’s lips—

Adora froze. Before she could react, before she could even think about what that glance meant, Catra was already leaning further into her, interweaving their arms and pushing Adora’s elbow in the wrong direction—an Americana submission—and Adora had to tap out. 

“Three-two,” Catra panted, jumping up and offering a hand for Adora to take, her victorious smirk—suddenly free of complex undertones—oh-so familiar. “I win.” 

Adora took the proffered hand automatically, and it was only when she had clambered to her feet that Catra seemed to realize what she’d done. She snatched her hand away, her smug smile dimming, but as Adora was still reeling from the sensation of  _ Catra, _ she heard the applause. 

Their audience—all the soldiers she’d fought, and all those who’d been in line to fight later—they were all cheering. 

It was only with the applause, the input from others, that Adora realized what their fight had meant. Not only were they hashing out emotions that should have been worked out over a decade ago, but they had ostensibly been sparring to check for drift compatibility. And based on their complete synergy, their ability to play off of one another, their drawn-out fights—a good five minutes longer than even her famed fight with Adam had been, Adora estimated—and their almost-even score—

“Catra,” Adora whispered under the applause, angling herself closer to create the semblance of privacy. “We’re drift compatible.” 

The joy and hope that filled her at the thought of working with Catra again, of getting to know her, drawing closer to her, even getting to drift with her—

From the time they were fifteen, Adora had anticipated this moment, had hoped that they’d be compatible—so much had changed that she’d let the dream slip away. But it was here again, right between her fingers; they could do what they’d always wanted, what Adora had promised to the world, what they’d promised each other so long ago. It was right there, for them to reach out and take—

Catra’s mask had disappeared during the fight, and Adora watched the range of emotions slip across her face. Confusion, hope, worry, frustration, anger.

“No,” Catra spat finally, turning away, shoulders tense. “This isn’t what I’m here for. I just wanted to show you that you’re not the best around here, and that I can still kick your ass if I need to.”

Adora reached out, brushing her fingers across Catra’s shoulder, only for Catra to spin, grabbing her wrist and twisting it against Adora’s chest. 

As Adora gasped in pain and surprise, Catra leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

“Get over yourself. Not everyone is falling over themselves to be your copilot.  _ Especially  _ not me.” 

Catra shoved her away, scooping up her shirt and shoes, before disappearing like a phantom through the door, leaving everyone to stare after her in confused silence.

Adora gaped in Catra’s wake, watching the door fall gently shut. She glanced over at Marshal Angella, whose expression was carefully neutral, but whose eyes told her to follow. 

So Adora snatched up her uniform shirt and boots, bowed to the group and stammered out a  _ thanks _ for the training, before running after Catra. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! except the next chapter when the clock strikes one (although probably earlier than that because I will be asleep)
> 
> I also just realized that that means nothing to probably most of you since we're all in different time zones but. that's fine. it'll be very soon. I'm just rereading it for the three thousandth time because I'm a perfectionist.


	6. broken

Adora just caught sight of Catra bolting around the corner at the end of the hallway. 

She tore after her, knowing that Catra would hear and know she was following, but not caring one bit. She’d catch up, one way or another. 

As she rounded the corner where she’d seen Catra, she couldn’t stop her momentum and crashed into the opposite wall—she stopped for a second to tug her socks off, and was off again. Catra’s leg disappeared around the next corner, and Adora was closer—

They neared some familiar hallways, and Adora realized they were in the residential area. As Catra burst through a door—identical to the ones around it—Adora only just managed to get her hand up against the steel, stopping Catra from slamming it shut. 

“Catra,  _ please,  _ can we talk?” She managed, between gasps for air. 

Catra turned her face away when Adora caught her eyes, but Adora read the anguish in her already red-rimmed eyes clear as day. 

“Do I have a choice?” Catra mumbled, but left the door open and sat at the head of her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, still panting. 

Adora shut the door softly behind her. She considered the bed for a second, before remembering Catra’s reaction when she’d reached out to touch her shoulder under the umbrella—the desk chair was probably a better idea. She set it carefully by the bed, sitting stiffly. 

They sat in silence, Catra catching her breath from her place on the bed, Adora wiping the sweat from her forehead again, feeling the toll of the day settling in her bones. 

“What the hell do you want?” Catra finally snapped at her.

Adora recoiled. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

“What part of this could possibly be okay? What part of you coming back after you left me for dead and expecting everything to suddenly be the same—expecting to keep your promise that you  _ broke _ —what part of this do you think is  _ okay _ ?”

Adora’s mind spun for traction, but she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t explain herself. “I just mean—Catra, I’m so sorry, I just mean—I want to help.” __

“You left me!” Catra hissed, claws digging into the blankets below her—Adora remembered torn sheets on her bed after a particularly bad nightmare— “You didn’t think twice about leaving me with that— _ bitch _ —as soon as your brother came along, and you knew what she’d been doing to me, you  _ knew _ —”

Catra swallowed hard, shutting her eyes and breathing deeply—her breath caught, briefly, on each inhale, and Adora remembered how she used to let her hair fall into her face when she cried, how she’d gotten so good at hiding her tears that the only way to tell was to listen to her breathing, how she used to hold onto Adora like her life depended on it. 

So much had changed—she wouldn’t touch Adora at all, now, and her anger seemed more fleeting, more controlled—but it all felt the same, somehow, like they were separated from their past by the thinnest transparent curtain fluttering between them. 

“I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Catra,” Adora breathed, leaning closer in her chair, desperately wishing she could hold Catra, steady her shaking hands, help her somehow—

“You  _ left  _ me,” Catra whispered, and the fire had dissipated from her voice into thin air, leaving Adora’s best friend small and empty on the threadbare sheets. 

A thought recurred to Adora, reverberating stronger than ever in her mind, and she stood from her chair to kneel carefully in front of Catra, springs digging into her knees through the thin mattress, watching Catra’s reaction for a sign that she should stop—but none came. 

“Catra, what—what  _ happened  _ to you?”

Catra squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw.  _ “Now  _ you care?” She spat out, summoning what little vitriol she had left, curling further into herself. “You  _ knew  _ what was happening back then, back when we were friends, back when you lov— _ now?” _

Adora’s instinct to fix, to soothe Catra, was so overwhelming that she floundered for a second—there was  _ so much  _ broken, from the fists clenched so tightly that Adora knew there would be blood trickling in her palms to the obviously worse trauma that Catra had experienced when Adora had left her—but she settled for the most glaring error in what Catra had said, first. 

“Catra, I’ve  _ always _ —I never stopped loving you.” 

In the years since she’d left, Adora’s overwhelming sadness and loss of sense of self had borne testimony of the magnitude of her love. Her instinct even today to reach out and comfort affirmed that it hadn’t dwindled in the slightest. 

Catra lifted her head from her knees, startled out of her misery for just long enough to shoot Adora the widest-eyed look of  _ drowning  _ and  _ confusion  _ and  _ desperation  _ and  _ fear  _ that Adora had ever seen, before letting the safer option of  _ despair  _ fall back into place. 

“If you did—if you  _ do _ —why did you leave me?” 

Catra’s broken voice, her shaking, bloody hands protecting the back of her neck, her tears that had finally been blinked free to fall down her cheeks, made it impossible for Adora to restrain herself any more. She leaned forward slowly, giving Catra every opportunity to stop her, before stroking the tears away. They only fell faster at her touch, as Catra closed her eyes and leaned into her hands, almost against her will. 

“I never should have left,” Adora whispered, feeling her eyes moisten dangerously. “I regretted leaving you as soon as I was gone. I thought of you every day—every morning when I saw the stars I remembered how our lives could have been, every time I stepped into a jaeger I remembered how I’d broken my promise. I’m so sorry. I’ll never be able to say it enough.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Catra whispered back, hands creeping up to hold Adora’s wrists, but it sounded so rote and her hands were so gentle—the pads of her fingers traced across Adora’s skin, not the nails—that Adora found it hard to believe that she wasn’t already mostly forgiven. 

“Anything I need to do to prove it to you, I’ll do. Anything.” 

Catra’s knees dropped to the mattress, and Adora took this as an invitation to come closer. She scooted up the bed, letting her hands fall to Catra’s shoulders. 

Catra’s last string of resolve visibly snapped, mask falling completely away, and she fell into Adora’s arms. Her soft tears grew into noisy sobs, and Adora held her all the tighter. 

“I missed you so much, Catra,” Adora murmured into her soft, tamed hair. 

Catra didn’t speak, but her head resting in its place against Adora’s chest, her warmth falling heavily around them like her old blue comforter, was response enough.

“Fuck, Adora,” Catra breathed eventually, arms tightening around Adora’s waist. “You’re really here.” 

“I am,” Adora whispered, “and I’m never leaving again, not if I have any say about it.” 

Catra hummed happily, a vibrating purr that Adora hadn’t felt in a decade. It almost made her tear up—damn it, she was  _ not  _ going to cry about  _ that,  _ of all things—

Minutes or hours might have passed—Adora didn’t know. She was woken from her blissful stupor by a whispered confession. 

“I don’t want you to have to see what she did to me,” Catra whispered, almost too quietly for Adora to hear. And then, even quieter:  _ “I  _ don’t want to see what she did to me.” 

_ She’d have to relive all of the abuse, in the Drift,  _ Adora realized, and suddenly she felt so, so selfish. 

“Oh, Catra,” she breathed, pressing a kiss into Catra's hair. “I didn’t even think—”

“Don’t worry about it,” was the automatic response. “I didn’t expect you to—it’s not a big deal. I just—I’m not sure I’m ready.” 

Adora remembered the red jacket hanging in her closet, part of her pilot’s uniform. “I think I understand, a little bit. I’m not sure—I still have Adam’s memories stuck in my head, somewhere, and I don’t want you to have to live that, either. _ I _ don’t want to relive it.”

Catra’s fingers traced the white, ridged lines adorning Adora’s left arm, and Adora shivered at the odd sensation of fingers dancing from ruined nerves to functional ones, remembering the excruciating pain of her suit’s wires burning the pattern into her skin. 

“What a pair we are,” Catra said, voice lilting in such a familiar, self-deprecating tone that Adora’s stomach jolted, joy bubbling up and manifesting in a wide smile. 

Catra glanced up, caught Adora’s blinding smile, and crinkled her nose in something that Adora might have once taken as disgust. “Dork.”

“When you’re ready to talk about it,” Adora blurted out, interrupting her own smile, “I’d like to be there for you.”

Catra paused for a second, her fingers resting along a raised scar adorning Adora’s shoulder. “I’d like that, I think.”

“Catra, I—” Adora started, but she didn’t know where she was going, didn’t know how to express the magnitude of what she was feeling. 

“I know,” Catra whispered into her damp shirt. “Me, too.” 

After a minute, Adora’s stomach made a noise like a whale, and Catra laughed hoarsely. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Adora huffed, “it’s not my fault you worked me so hard today.”

Catra coughed. “What—” 

“I’ve probably burned three thousand calories already, since this morning. We should probably go eat—I hear it’s spaghetti for lunch.” 

Catra closed her eyes for a second before reopening them and glancing down at herself, and Adora knew that she wouldn’t want to be seen like this: uniform completely rumpled, stained white shirt, eyes red. 

“I’ll go shower and then bring you something back?” Adora offered, and Catra smiled gratefully. 

Adora detangled herself from Catra, moving to get out of bed, but Catra called out—

“Adora, wait.” 

Adora paused, looking over, ready to do whatever Catra asked. 

“I think—I do want to try this with you. The Drift, I mean.”

Adora’s world froze. 

“Don’t get too excited, Adora. I’ve never done this before—I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. We’ll just try once and see how it goes, okay?” 

Adora launched herself towards Catra, knocking her backwards onto the bed and hugging her tight. 

“Catra, I—thank you, thank you, thank you—”

“Get off me, you idiot,” Catra mock-wheezed, and Adora rolled off of her immediately, suddenly worried that she’d gone too far—but she over-rotated and fell off the bed onto the thinly carpeted concrete floor. 

“Adora—” Catra called, leaning over the edge of the bed. 

“I’m—” Adora coughed, inhaling heavily. “I’m fine, I just—” she coughed again. “Got the wind knocked out of me.” 

Catra laughed again, the high note of her earlier sobs creeping in, as Adora lay flat on her back on the floor, completely unable to breathe. It came back little by little, until she was almost laughing too, despite the throbbing pain in the back of her skull. 

She composed herself a little, standing up unsteadily and leaning over the bed to give Catra a lingering hug, before tearing herself away. If she didn’t leave now, she wasn’t sure she ever would.

Adora turned back at the door to look fondly at Catra, still giggling to herself on the bed. 

“I’ll be back in fifteen with food, okay?” 

“‘Kay,” Catra said, almost sanely, and Adora slipped out of the room, suppressing another smile. 

She’d have to go stargazing tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter--I'll try to make the next one longer to make up for these shorter ones :) I was going to make this one longer but decided it was probably better to not make you all wait another week lol 
> 
> we did it! glad you seem to be enjoying! lmk if you have any thoughts or whatever--requests to make for one-shots in this universe, or whatever you'd like :)
> 
> idk when I will be able to post next since school is starting up again soon, but I will do it as soon as possible :) hopefully I can get a couple more chapters in before the first day. the next chapter is their first Drift together, and I am beyond excited to see what happens! I think it'll be an amazing chapter.
> 
> thanks to womenlovingwonderwoman for editing, and as always, check out her works in progress and our combined holiday fic that I'm super proud of:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28492911/chapters/69817536


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